“Young man, I do not choose to be catechized,”
said Squire Pope, in a dignified manner; “but
I have no objections to tell you that I have made
arrangements with Mr. Tucker to take you into the
poorhouse.”

“I’ve heard that before, but I couldn’t
believe it,” said Philip proudly.

“I guess you’ll have to believe it pretty
soon, he, he!” laughed Zeke, with a grin which
indicated his high delight. “I guess dad’ll
make you stand round when he gits you into the poor-house.”

“Ahem! Yes, you will be one of these days.
You won’t have to stay in the almshouse all
your life.”

“You’ll have a chance to earn your livin’
with me.” said Mr. Tucker. “I shall
give you something to do, you may depend.”

“You can make him saw and split wood, father,
and do the chores and milk the cow,” suggested
Zeke.

“I have no objection to doing any of those things
for a farmer,” said Philip, “but I am
not willing to do it where I shall be considered a
pauper.”

“Kinder uppish!” suggested Mr. Tucker,
turning to Squire Pope. “Most all of them
paupers is proud; but it’s pride in the wrong
place, I reckon.”

“If it is pride to want to earn an independent
living, and not live on charity, then I am proud,”
continued Philip.

“Well, squire, how is it to be,” asked
Mr. Tucker.

“Philip,” said Squire Pope pompously,
“you are very young, and you don’t know
what is best for you. We do, and you must submit.
Mr. Tucker, take him and put him in the wagon, and
we’ll drive over to the poorhouse.”